


Enslaved

by orphan_account



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Edging, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One hundred years is a long time to be alone. Pitch knows this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the rotg kink meme:
> 
> At some point after knowing the guardians, Jack Frost decides to join Pitch. Together they defeat the guardians. However Jack has taken a shine to one guardian in particular and keeps him as a personal "pet" for his own use.
> 
> http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/1511.html?thread=46823#cmt46823

When he awoke, he remembered the moon. Bright, overwhelming, and it told him his name.

It was the first and last contact Jack made with another sentient being in a hundred years, though he tried not to keep track.

Instead, Jack focused on other things. He loved spreading frost and riding the wind. He loved the freedom, the thrill of the dance, loved to be able to see the world and new places. Most of all, he loved playing along with the children as they dashed and laughed, throwing snowballs and ice skating, a skill Jack seemed to acquire with ease. Parents never enjoyed the hijinks that followed him, so he focused on bringing the children fun instead. Jack left small morsels of food from the forest when kids were scolded and sent to bed without dinner, and he would block the roads with his gift, granting children a free day from school work.

All of these things kept Jack Frost content, but it was hard to ignore the phantom-pain of children phasing through him like he was nothing. It happened too suddenly to avoid sometimes, and it was always shocking, disorienting. Children lunged to tag a friend or grab more snow and Jack felt it and remembered they did not know him. No matter how he played and pranked, the results never changed. What did he have to do for people to see?

It was during those times of overwhelming loneliness that he would flit into the sky and let the wind take him where it would. Jack would plead to the moon. Sometimes he cried. Screamed. Cursed it for his immortality and his invisibility. Why should he live alone without friends or family? Was he to spend eternity yearning for something he would never have?

The moon remained silent.

It became increasingly difficult for Jack to go near humans, though it pained him to be away. He began to spend more and more time in heavily wooded areas, much like the place he first appeared.

It was on such a night in dead winter that he wandered the woods, dragging his staff along the ground and watching the frost’s patchwork creak and spider. He walked, feeling no love for the wind.

He heard movement in the distance and glanced up to see a man flickering into his vision. Though dangerous, it was not unheard of for humans to travel at night. Even so, Jack was in no mood for another failed attempt at being realized.

The winter spirit continued staring down as the footsteps grew louder. Every crunch of the man’s steps echoed in his ears, seemed significant. The air seemed heavier, atmosphere darker. The man drew near, and the winter spirit felt uneasy.

Jack, almost unwillingly, looked again.

The man’s golden eyes stared directly at him from a few feet away. Jack flitted backwards a step, startled. The man saw him. He was seen. Jack shook his head violently, shoving against the wave of pathetic hope that threatened to overtake him. He steeled himself for disappointment. Those eyes scanned him, unblinking.

The man’s steps did not falter.

Jack snapped his eyes shut, preparing for the too familiar almost-pain of intangibility.

What he felt was a warm pressure on his shoulder, making him gasp and snap his head up so fast he barely registered the man. He dropped his staff and distantly heard it clatter.

“You are not a child. How naughty of you for making me believe so.”

Jack tried to tug out of the man’s grip, frightened and exhilarated, but there was something off about him. His skin was charcoal grey, and he had never seen golden eyes, but those warnings were difficult to heed. He was being touched, being seen! Jack wanted to jump and shout and run. But something held him back.

The pressure on his shoulder increased, and it was almost too warm to handle. His breath stuttered, heart thundering.The man’s lips twisted, revealing a ghastly smile.

“Ah. Do not be frightened. I intend you no harm. What is your name, young spirit?”

Jack swallowed, eyes flickering between the the man’s chest and the ground. He seemed wispy, like he was formed from smoke.

“Jack. Jack Frost. You…” It was hard to form words after not speaking for so long. “You see me.”

Shadows rustled around their feet, and they lifted Jack’s staff, handing it to the boy. He took it.

“Of course I can. I am like you. My name is Pitch Black.” Jack attempted to draw away once more, and this time Pitch let him.

“You’re the Boogeyman.” Jack had heard about him. A few hundred years ago, he was the most powerful spirit on the earth. Even now, people whispered his name.

They believed.

“Yes, Jack. Quite astute of you.” The nightmare king stalked around the boy, golden eyes never leaving him.

“You scare people. Fear is your game.” Jack turned as the spirit moved, not letting him out of sight. His shoulder seemed to pulse where Pitch’s hand had rested.

“Right again. And why not? Fear is just as legitimate as any power, and unlike positive emotions, it can never be defeated.” Pitch crossed his arms behind his back, eyes cast to the ground where a line of frost decorated the path.

“You control frost, but I bet that is not the extent of your powers.” Pitch laughed quietly then, loving how the boy’s emotions wavered between fear and surprise and something else he couldn’t quite name.

“Why make them fear? What’s the point in torturing people?” He gripped his staff tighter as he felt the shadows shift around him. They did little more than tug at his clothes, but it still elevated his uneasiness.

The dark one hummed. “Fear can protect. There are other things than me that cause harm. Wild animals, for one. Evil humans, too.”

Jack can’t deny the horrors he had seen over the century. Murder. Pestilence. War. Starvation. They existed, Jack knew, but they were not the only things. He had also witnessed kindness. Pity. Compassion. Friendship.

The shadows slid over Jack’s bare feet, and he jumped. They followed, coiling around his ankles, grounding him to the earth. Jack channeled a line of frost to halt the tendrils, but frost and shadow combined instead, pinning his legs. Pitch watched, eyes calculating.

“Release me!” Jack tried to move, but the shadow-ice held fast. He lost his balance and pitched forward, expecting hard ground.

Jack landed against something solid and warm, the nightmare king. He tried to fight, but Pitch squeezed his wrist and the winter spirit unwillingly dropped the staff once more.

“Why are you so fearful?” Pitch asked. He cupped the side of Jack’s neck with one hand, the other climbed to his cheek. The pressure, the heat, the touch, was too much for him. Pitch lifted the boy’s head to meet his gaze. Jack grasped Pitch’s arms in a vice, but he didn’t struggle. The dark spirit was all heat and sensation, and his eyes promised more.

Pitch’s hands roamed innocently, and the small caresses caused goosebumps all over his body. The dark one stroked Jack’s neck, rustled his hair, pet his face; every new touch elevated the boy’s panic and need. He heard noises, small keens, hardly recognizing them as his own. Pitch’s nails brushed his skin, and Jack slid his eyes closed, just feeling. He knew this nightmare man was not to be trusted, and that letting him close was dangerous. But it was touch. It was real.

He was real.

Jack felt something press against his lips. He breathed, eyes opening just enough to see Pitch’s fingers tracing his mouth, charting the oval of his lips over and over. Jack tried to keep it together and knowing he failed miserably, tried to commit every touch to memory. He was shaking like a child in the cold.

“You are lonely. You want to be with someone, anyone, who knows you.” Pitch cupped the boy’s ear, sliding his fingers along its edges. “You have gone this long without touch.” Pitch‘s breath ghosted over the shell of his ear. “I understand.”

Pitch slipped his fingers inside the boy’s mouth then, and he cannot bear to stop grinning, not with this power roiling through him, not when the boy was near hysterics with such ease. Jack finally broke, and tears rolled down his face, hardening into frost before they could reach the ground.

The nightmare king withdrew his fingers, wiping the saliva on Jack’s cloak. He kissed the boy’s forehead, shattering the shadow ice with ease before lifting Jack into his arms, cradling the sniffling winter spirit. His shadows retrieved the staff from the ground.

“Come with me, Jack,” he cooed into his hair. The trembling slowed. “We can be together, you and I. We will make them believe in us.” Pitch trailed a comforting hand down the spirit’s back. “What goes better together than cold and dark?”

Jack didn’t say a word, but he clutched the shadowy fabric of Pitch’s coat, burrowing into the man as close as he could. They sunk into the earth, shadows dispersing without a trace.

Pitch had figured out how to use this young one, and it was not with fear.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Jack wakes for the second time in his life, this time to darkness.

He shoots into a seated position and weaves his hands into his hair, and memories flood his conscious mind. His face burns cold at how emotional he was, how he had exposed himself so fully to a complete stranger.

But who could blame him? It was the first person who spoke to him in more than a hundred years. And, he thinks, it was the first time he had felt another’s touch.

Jack slides off the edge of the bed and feels for his staff, which he finds on the the mattress beside him. The room is too dark to see clearly, but a line of dim light pours through the doorway. Jack hustles down the stairs that lead out of his room.

It’s an immense place with stalagmites and winding stairways that span all directions. Empty iron cages hang from the cave ceiling. Jack wonders what used to occupy them.

He walks until he’s in front of a giant globe composed of the fragmented continents. Thousands of lights shimmer on the tarnished surface.

“They are the lights of the children, Jack.” The winter spirit jumps as Pitch rises from his own shadow and stands next to him.

The memory of Pitch’s touch chills his face.

“All the believers in the world. Little ones that used to believe in me. Soon they will believe in us.” Pitch slides his hand across Jack’s shoulders. The winter spirit releases a shaky breath.

“How?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jack begins to live in Pitch’s domain, and though the stairways that lead nowhere and the darkness often disorient him, he acclimates.

Even in such close quarters, Jack doesn’t see Pitch as often as he likes. The nightmare king tells him he is working on something, something big. Something that will destroy the guardians’ power.

Jack continues exploring the earth, but it reminds him of why he joined Pitch in the first place. Each unseeing child morphs into a tormenter and reminds Jack of his purpose. The constant whisperings of Pitch’s words echo in his mind, and the children’s ignorance becomes malicious. Hateful.

A seed of darkness begins to grow.

 

* * *

 

 

The older spirit tells Jack about the world before guardians. People were afraid, and rightly so. Fear is necessary part of life. It keeps humans alive.

“The only difference between past and present is the man in the moon and his guardians protecting the very humans who ignore us.” Pitch sneers when he recalls this fact.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack likes listening to Pitch, but he likes it even more when Pitch looks at him, when he expects interaction. Jack, I need you find this item for me. Jack, it’s time for your training.

Jack won’t admit it, but what he likes most of all are the intimate moments when their eyes lock, when hands brush, when the nightmare king ruffles his hair.

When Jack is good, sometimes he’s rewarded. Pitch is not overly intimate, so he accepts whatever the nightmare king gives. A hand on his face or a stiff hug is all he needs, though he aches for contact as soon as its gone.

Pitch knows this.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack learns the guardian’s names as Pitch highlights each of their superfluous purposes.

“The guardians fill the world with joy, hope, sweet dreams and happy memories. They disregard all negative emotions and seek to eliminate them. No human wants bitter medicine, the hard truth I provide. But we are going to give it to them, Jack.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Why don’t we try to join the guardians?” Jack inquires once when Pitch is in the middle of a heated rant.

Pitch’s laughter echoes off the cave walls, cruel and booming.

“They don’t want us, Jack. They don’t want you. We are everything the guardians are trying to destroy.”

The winter spirit is sure that there is more to the guardians than beautiful lies, but as the years pass, Pitch’s influence grows stronger, and it’s hard to disagree.

A hundred and fifty years pass in this way.

 

* * *

 

 

The two spirits fight, and a few times it’s too much for Jack. The frost spirit leaves, sometimes for years, but it’s hard to live outside the caverns. The light hurts his eyes. He wears his hood to block out the extraneous brightness that his frost reflects.

He sees his reflection for the first time in 250 years and doesn’t recognize himself. His eyes are dull, more harsh grey than blue, and somber smears of color ring his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack returns to Pitch after eight long months. The winter spirit remembers leaving in a rage, having nearly killed children while executing Pitch’s orders. Those memories are hazy and unimportant compared to the stark loneliness he feels after months of being socially starved and untouched. He still chit chats with children, though the one-sided conversations are jarring after having someone listen and respond for years at a time, someone who can give a reaffirming touch or, in extremely rare moments, kiss.

The darkness brings warmth to him in ways he never thought it could, but the years show him that he is wrong.

Pitch appears almost immediately this time. Jack does not flinch, though his face grows tense, the older spirit notes as they stare at each other.

“Did you bring it?” Pitch asks, expression void of feeling. He doesn’t ask how Jack has been or where he was or that he is glad to see him, and it’s cruel, but Jack treasures every syllable of his words.

Pitch grins, slanted teeth exposed and he’s so in control Jack feels sick. He hates that he’s the only one who hurts. The winter spirit withdraws a small pouch from his hoodie and extends it to Pitch. There is the slightest tremble in his own hand, and Jack grits his teeth.

“I have not forgotten, Jack.” Pitch says, and takes the pouch, so careful not to touch him. It’s enough to make Jack scream, cry, beat the nightmare man bloody.

Pitch turns and steps into the darkness of the cave.

Jack follows.

 

* * *

 

 

The sand Jack gives to Pitch is selected grain by grain from darker dreams that slip into nightmares, even though they were born with Sandman’s sand.

It takes years to collect the small handful, and Jack had to be careful, studying each child’s fitful slumber, sometimes for hours, to procure each tiny speck.

Three months pass before Pitch speaks to him. He comes to Jack as the boy lays on the bed where he first woke, though he has not slept since.

Jack goes still when he feels the mattress sink. Pitch remains quiet for so long it seems like no one is there at all.

“I’ve figured it out, Jack.” The nightmare king says, voice soft. “The sand is mine to control.”

The bed dips, and he feels heat just hovering. Jack is so still. He doesn’t want Pitch to know how badly he wants this. It was nearly a year ago he left the nightmare king and even longer since they've touched.

The barest brush of fingertips against his cheek startles him. His touch feels hot as coals.

“You did well, Jack. So well. I forgive you.” The spirit hovers over him and he just let’s the sensation scrub away the darkness in his mind. Pitch caresses his face, neck, shoulders, arms, soft, firm, comforting. It’s too much to hate Pitch, not right in this moment.

He feels the nightmare king shift and the warmth becomes overwhelming. Pitch moves so slowly, heat increasing by tiny increments and Jack has time to think but he can’t when lips press to his forehead. A jagged sigh rolls from Jack’s mouth.

He jumps again when Pitch’s lips begin to travel down between his eyes to the tip of his nose. Each kiss feels like an extinguished flame snuffed out in an instant. Heat-chill. Heat-chill.

He tilts his face away when he feels Pitch descending lower. He’s scared, and if Pitch didn’t know (he did) he knows now all the overwhelming anticipation, wants and fears tied into a big ball of fucking pathetic that is Jack Frost, poor lonely spirit boy.

Pitch follows Jack’s mouth, just pressing their lips together. Jack grasps Pitch’s shoulders, hands quaking, mouth jerking away. Pitch kisses him again, hot sparks on his cheek before reclaiming his lips, too tender, too real. The nightmare king slides his tongue along the tight seam of Jack’s closed mouth and Jack groans, a rumble deep in his chest. Jack’s frozen, unable to think and what is Pitch _doing?_

“Just relax. Trust me,” Pitch cooes, and Jack’s incensed because Pitch knows that he can’t possibly do either of those things but he can’t stop any of this from happening.

Pitch kisses him, tongue slipping into Jack’s mouth and his spine bows and he doesn’t know why. Pitch’s tongue slides along Jack’s, coaxing the boy into opening his mouth wider and Jack does and his body is burning cold. His gut feels too tight and he shifts his thighs together when Pitch starts sucking.

It's too soon as Pitch recedes. Jack is breathless, lips chapped and swollen and red. He wants something but he doesn’t know what to ask for and he’s afraid to ask for anything. His lower body feels thick and heavy. His thighs tense and a quiet, needy sound escapes him.

Pitch stands, and Jack reaches for him, his fingers only disperse wisps of shadow. He bites down on his tongue. Hard.

“I will help you garner this power too, Jack. Then we will be ready.”

The guardians are the furthest thing from his mind. Jack nods once, numbly. Pitch is gone by the time he reclines. Exhaustion takes him.


	3. Chapter 3

With a flick of his paw, the color smoothes across the egg’s surface. Bunnymund admires his work, even after hundreds of years of decorating an uncountable number of googies. He lowers it to the ground, and the egg stumbles towards thousands of its brethren, each one unique like snow.  
  
1967 went well, and he has high hopes for this year. Bunny accrued sixteen fresh colors and eighty-seven new design variants, nine more than the previous easter. He’s in good spirits, imagining each bright-eyed child discovering wonder and hope through such a small gift.  
  
Bunny bounds through the ancient warren tunnels, carefully dodging hoards of delicately decorated eggs. He jumps higher, quicker; his heart’s thumping and he can’t wait to see their faces.  
  
The door swings open, and snow whips through the tunnels. The googies in front tip over, tiny legs kicking the air.  
  
“What the...”  
  
A violent shiver ripples through Bunny as he steps into the barrage of show. It’s nearly a white out, and though it’s morning he can’t tell by the way it looks out here. His eggs hesitantly follow, though they tumble into a snow drift seconds later.  
  
He keeps moving, completely astounded. How would he ever deliver eggs in this weather? _It ain’t natural_ , he thinks.  
  
Bunny begins hustling eggs into his arms. He summons the sentinels to aid his distribution, which in turn scoop eggs into their maws. Regardless of weather, the googies need planting. It unnerves him that a bustling city is devoid of any people, probably all holed up in their houses.  
  
Though Bunny has help, they spend twice as long hiding the googies. Bunny stores cautiously, worries that whatever caused this whole mess lingers. He taps his foot and drops into the rabbit hole, appearing on a rooftop to tuck the last egg into a ice-coated plant.  
  
Bunny spots movement at the edge of his vision. He drops into a fighting stance, cocking back his boomerang to strike. He falters when he gets a good look at the target.  
  
A boy stands on the building's ledge, a few inches from a five story drop. He’s sparsely dressed for the storm, legs half-bare in a tall drift of snow. His hood is pulled around his face, but the boy turns to him, and Bunny sees his eyes.  
  
They are stark grey-blue, nearly colder than the ice and snow whipping around them. The boy doesn’t react, just stares for long seconds. Bunny wonders if he can see him. The human seems too old to believe. Then the boy smiles, a rough tug to one side of his face.  
  
Bunny rushes forward as the boy extends his arms and falls backwards off the building.  
  
The guardian slams his foot and teleports to the ground, hoping he will be fast enough. He calculates his location with the the mere seconds he has, throwing his arms up to break the kid’s fall.  
  
The impact flattens them into a foot of snow. Bunny groans, momentarily stunned. He feels even colder than before.  
  
“Are you okay?” Bunny asks, winded. He knows he’ll be feeling this later. “Are you outta your freakin mind?”  
  
The boy stares at Bunny, eyes wide, smile gone. Bunny stares in return, flabbergasted. He realizes the chill is coming from the boy and tries to jerk away.  
  
The frost spirit weaves his chilled fingers through the guardian’s fur. Bunny shoves him into a thin drift of snow.  
  
“What the hell d’ya think you’re doing?! Are you the one who caused this whole mess?” Bunny shouts as he stands. Anger slams to the surface now that it has a target.  
  
Jack trains his eyes on Bunny, but something’s shifted. Bunny’s anger mixes with unease.  
  
Those cold eyes hold awe.  
  
The storm reaches a fever pitch, and Bunny braces against the cold, waiting for the updraft to pass.  
  
When he looks again, the boy is gone.

* * *

  
“Well done, Jack.” Pitch says when he returns. “That’ll put a dent in the rabbit’s schedule.”  
  
Jack shrugs. The guardian hesitated only a minute before pressing through the storm. He knew the bunny would make up lost time. No believers would be lost that day.  
  
Phantom warmth lingers on his calloused palm. Though the guardian had been angry, his first act had been one of kindness.  
  
Jack smiles, really smiles, for the first time in ages.

* * *

  
The years pass. Jack learns the way of nightmares.

* * *

  
It’s nearly half a century later when he sees Jack again. The kid looks more haggard than he remembers, but he feels a spark of anger at the sight of Frost's smug grin.  
  
When Jack leans against his staff and speaks, his whole demeanor changes. His heavy eyes lighten, his posture relaxes. Bunny remembers the hand ruffling through his fur all those years ago. He touches the spot, puzzled, before falling down the rabbit hole.

* * *

  
“He doesn’t care about children. He’s helping Pitch! This bloody kid doesn’t deserve to be a guardian.” Bunny shouts.  
  
“Bunny. If Man in Moon choose guardian, he is guardian.”  
  
“Besides,” Tooth chimes, “Even if he did work with Pitch, the Man on the Moon would never lead us astray. He picked all of us, after all.” Tooth turns to pass orders to her fairies.  
  
Sandy agrees.  
  
Bunny is not convinced.

* * *

  
Jack’s arrival distracts the guardians long enough for Pitch to steal the teeth. It’s all going according to plan. They arrive in time to hear Pitch gloat about his victory. The nightmare king watches Jack knowingly, all malice and glee.  
  
“A neutral party. Then, I’m going to ignore you. But you must be used to that by now.”  
  
Though they are putting on a performance for the guardians, the words strike closer to home than anyone realizes. Jack frowns, and he’s not acting.  
  
Bunny rushes Pitch after his remark, and Jack sees.

* * *

  
When Sandy succumbs to darkness, everything locks into place. Pitch spreads his nightmares to every continent. The children sleep fitfully if they can sleep at all. The nightmares burn horrors and fear into their minds.  
  
They speak of Pitch, and Jack Frost too.  
  
The winter spirit feels his power flux during the night. It’s hard to contain himself; the extra energy makes him feel more alive than he has in decades. His ice manifests darker, more fortified. His agility increases. Jack gains perfect vision, even in complete darkness.  
  
He doesn't have to fake mourning when they lose Sandy, but the power (and praise) Pitch gives him makes it worthwhile.

* * *

  
The guardian and the frost elf rest next to one another in the warren. They watch Sophie waddling after a few wayward eggs.  
  
"You're alright, kid," Bunnymund says to his strange introverted companion. “You really showed that sand stealer.”  
  
"You're not too bad yourself." Jack replies. He keeps staring forward so Bunny can't see him smile.  
  
"'m sorry for before. Shoulda had more faith in you."  
  
Jack clenches his staff and lets his eyes wander the ancient green pastures. Sophie loses interest in the eggs and begins skipping towards Bunny. The plan is nearly complete, in its last stages. Only, he doesn't want to succeed.  
  
He's trapped.  
  
"Jack? What's wrong, mate?" Bunny rests a paw on his shoulder.  
  
Bunny’s as warm as he remembers, and Jack's face feels tight and swollen. The winter spirit rubs his face into the sleeve of his tattered navy hoodie.  
  
Sophie crawls into Bunny's lap a few heartbeats later, and the other guardians join them.  
  
"I'll take her," Jack offers. Bunny looks concerned, like he isn't finished with Jack.  
  
Jack can't stay, knowing what Pitch is about to do.  
  
"I'll be as quick as a bunny."

* * *

  
Bunny leads his eggs through the tunnels like he has done for centuries. There's so much at stake this time.  
  
The nightmares are upon them. He draws his boomerangs and hopes for Jack's quick return.

* * *

  
Jack sits on the windowsill, watching the last believer in the world. Jamie talks to the stuffed rabbit on his bed, pleading for a sign, anything.  
  
Jack has met him before. The boy reminds him so much of his sister. Jack used to be so carefree.  
  
He’s different now.  
  
After all those years of Pitch’s instruction, he still can’t hate the guardians, not after what he’s seen. It’s the only thing he can do for them now.  
  
Jack magicks his frost bunny to life, and it flits around Jamie. The boy’s eyes shine in wonderment. It dissolves into snow, a single flake landing on his nose.  
  
He says his name. Jack feels the rush of belief energize him.  
  
Jamie’s awe turns to fear.  
  
“You’re Jack Frost. My friends...they’ve told me about you!” Jamie tugs his sheets to his shoulders, pressing himself against the headboard.  
  
“Why are you here? What did you do to the others? The easter bunny never came!”  
  
Jack staggers under the barrage of accusations, chest tight.  
  
“No, you, you don’t understand! He’s alive, he’s real,” Jack stumbles over his words.  
  
“Please...please don’t hurt me!” The child’s whole frame trembles.  
  
“No, I–”  
  
“Ah, you’ve found him, Jack. Good work.” Jack whips towards the voice, and Pitch emerges from the shadows.  
  
“Wait, Pitch, not this one,” Jack says, stepping between Jamie and the nightmare king.  
  
Pitch glowers at the frost spirit.  
  
“Don’t test me. There’s no going back now.”  
  
The door bursts open and Jamie screams. An exhausted North lumbers inside and Tooth follows. They crowd around Jamie.  
  
Jack looks them over, horrified. They can barely stand. It’s then he notices a small animal peaking from inside the russian’s coat.  
  
It’s Bunny. He’s tiny, belief all but gone. Jack steels his expression.  
  
Pitch laughs, and it’s a triumphant noise. Centuries of silence and ignorance end in this moment and he reveals in it.  
  
“Look how fluffy you are. Would you like a scratch behind the ears?” Pitch says and his shadows surround the room, circling the remnants of the guardians.  
  
“Pitch, please,” Jack says.  
  
Pitch turns to his apprentice, eyes burning. “And what is it, boy? You’ve been so _good_ all these years. Each little task has really paid off. Now, all the children know you. Know us. I could have never done it without you, Jack.”  
  
Jacks feels the cold, unforgiving stares of the guardians. Disappointed. Unbelieving. Defeated. He hates himself. Jamie cries quietly, though North has blocked the boy from sight. He can hear Tooth softly comforting him.  
  
Jack can’t bare to look at Bunny.  
  
“I want you to spare the kid. Can’t you see how powerless they are? What’s one believer in a world of fear?”  
  
“It’s hope. You know I can’t allow it.” Pitch voice evens out. He’s curious.  
  
“I doubt a snot-nosed little brat can really do anything. But, he’s important for another purpose,” Jack continues, voice riddled with intent. He’s spent so long with Pitch, his tricks and lies.  
  
Pitch cants his head. “Which is?”  
  
“This child’s belief keeps Bunny alive.” Jack sneers. “I think I want a new guardian pet.”  
  
Tooth and North begin to protest, but the shadows manifest into nightmares, cowing their weakened spirits into submission.  
  
“Silence, all of you. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s time for mine...and Jack’s.” The nightmare king weaves his arms behind his back and smiles at the guardians.  
  
“Come now, rabbit. Hop along. I don’t want to dally when there’s so much more fear to spread.”  
  
Jack hears Bunny hit the ground softly.  
  
“Bunny, no...” North exclaims. Jack looks so calm, he’s anything but.  
  
“No choice, mate. Keep Jamie safe.”  
  
The nightmares part, and Bunny hops into view. He’s so small and frail, but his eyes are heavy, resigned.  
  
Jack kneels, extending his hand to his new companion.  
  
Bunny hops into his palm, a little ball of warmth.  Bunny doesn’t look at him.  
  
“Excellent! We’re all ready. I trust you’ll stay out of our way. Though you can’t really do much now, can you? Farewell, guardians,” Pitch says. The shadows engulf them.  
  
They have won. The world slips into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

They emerge in Pitch's domain next to the segmented globe where Jamie's light glows alone on the rusted brass. Jack cradles Bunny to his chest, and the pooka lets him. He's shivering. Jack tries not to look at the small creature in his hands, the first being to truly show him kindness. With his increased power, he can regulate his body temperature to an extent, and his cold skin floods with a spark of warmth. The pooka continues shaking.

"Well, what are you going to do with your new pet?" Pitch enquires, and Jack hears the grin as he speaks. The nightmare king shifts and extends his hand, stroking Bunny's flank. The pooka presses harder against Jack's chest, his heart pitter pattering in his grasp.

Shadows shroud the boy’s face, but he can’t rely on darkness for protection. His harsh eyes gloss, and a malevolent smile exposes his white teeth. He stares at the ceiling, watches the ancient cages swing from their chains.

“Well, I had a few ideas for him. But with Bunny in this form...guess he’ll just be my little companion.” He feels Pitch’s golden eyes roam his body and worries his lip when Pitch’s hand descends on his shoulder, hot like a brand.

“Jack.” His voice is low and solid, a single rock dropped into an undisturbed pool. Jack still won’t meet his eyes.

Pressure against his jaw, Pitch cups Jack’s face in his hands, forces Jack to look at him. He stiffens, stomach tightening. Hundreds of years and he still can’t get enough of this. Pitch leans forward.

Fluff shifts in his hands.

Pitch’s grip tightens. Hot pressure, and Jack makes a soft sound. He dreads what comes next almost as much as he wants it. Almost.

“You’re warmer than usual, Frost.” Pitch breathes into his lips. In this terse silence, the kiss is an obscene smack.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?” Jack whips his head down to look at the pooka, meets his harsh green eyes. They are wide, surprised, horrified maybe. Jack smiles crookedly, happy that Bunny is even looking at him. Pitch’s next kiss surprises him, falling waywardly on his cheek. Pitch growls.

“Stupid rabbit.”

The nightmare king reaches for the guardian, and Bunny sinks his teeth into gray flesh. With a loud curse, Pitch flings the pooka across the dark chasm, slamming into an unfinished wall. Bunny squeaks, a painful, sad sound.

“Hey, what’d you do that for?” Jack shouts, scrambling to retrieve his lost friend.

“Bunny, you okay?”

Pitch grasps his wrist tightly. “What’s wrong with you? Have I not delivered as promised? We won. Everything we planned for hundreds of years!”

Jack stares at Pitch, searching for some sort of give. Pitch’s mouth is a thin, chapped line, eyes glowing even in the darkness. What did fear personified want from him? Nearly everything in his life he had done for Pitch. Was he supposed to be happy? Bunny whimpers quietly, but the acoustics amplify the sound. Jack doesn’t know how to answer.

“It’s just...different from how I had imagined it would be.” The frost spirit responds finally, eyes downcast. He squirms in the tense grip, tense situation. He just wants to make sure that Bunny is okay.

Pitch kisses him again, and it’s deep and hot and good. Jack opens his mouth mindlessly at the other’s insistence, and his hands alternate between white-knuckled fists and spread fingers. The boy tries to withdraw as gently as he can, but Pitch steps with him, keeping their mouths locked. Another step and he’s pinned to a wall, all sensation focused with sharp intensity on every place their bodies connect. Mouth. Chest. Legs. It’s hard to remember that he’s upset. Not when blood’s thrumming cool through his body, harshly contrasting every pinpoint of heat. It’s hard to shift his mouth away; his head throbs with the force of resisting, even the thick sound of lips separating is almost enough make him lean into the kiss again.

“Wait. I have to check on Bunny.” Jack says, voice harsh and low, eyes flickering between Pitch’s gaze and where he thinks Bunny landed.

The shadows roil around him, flairing at his words. Jack’s never been so close to watch Pitch fold in on himself, hide his fury and disappointment, sculpted into a perfect mask of indifference. It’s even worse this way.

The force of Pitch’s withdrawal slams Jack against the wall, and the shadow man disperses into concentrated darkness not even his improved vision can perceive. Jack flits to Bunny, lips burning and still very much distracted, but he tries to clear his head enough to examine his friend. The pooka looks at him, eyes scared and angry and it’s like a blow to his chest.

“Bunny. He’s gone.” He kneels and reaches for his new companion. “Let’s go.” It’s not entirely unexpected, but Bunny smacks his hand away with his paw, turning his back to the frost spirit. Jack’s shoulders slump.

“Not gonna bite me?” He asks, tired and unsteady.

“Yer not worth it.” Bunny responds. That stumps Jack for a few moments.

“I know you hate me.” Jack sighs. “I hate me too. What I did...it was horrible. I’d change it if I could. But if I move against Pitch now...”

“And how the hell do I know you’re telling the truth?” Booms the tiny creature.

“Shoulda followed my gut on this one. Working with Pitch for hundreds of years. I bet you both had a laugh at us gumbies while you put on a grand show. I can’t believe I actually...” Bunny shakes his head violently, ears twitching. He hunches away from Jack.

“He’s the only one who listened or cared. For a hundred years I was alone. You don’t know what that’s like. Children running through you year after year...I was nothing!” Jack replies, clutching his hoodie. “No one believed in me. Only Pitch.”

“Seems like belief’s not the only thing he’s given you.” It’s venomous. Jack bristles at the accusations, ashamed, but he can’t help but feel justified too. He wants and hates what Pitch does.

“It’s complicated.”

“I’ll bet.”

They sit in uncomfortable silence for a long while. Jack watches Bunny, wanting to stroke his fur, fingers itching from the urge. It’s not like Bunny could stop him, but he doesn’t want to hurt the pooka anymore. He’s fucked up so many things.

“So you don’t trust me,” Jack begins, slipping into a squat and balancing on the balls of his feet. “...but I can guarantee that Pitch is a lot less merciful. Please, Bunny, come with me.” Bunny’s nose twitches.

The frost spirit licks his lips absently, all nearly fried nerves. “If you’re with me, I won’t need Pitch.”

Slowly, Bunny tilts his head towards Jack. His ears perk slightly. Jack commits these motions to memory, afraid he won’t get a chance to see them many more times. Who knew what the future would hold?

“And why would that be?” Bunny’s words grind against his teeth. Jack smiles crookedly, and it makes him look boyish though his skin is gray and eyes too tired.

“Just be with me. I would like someone to talk to. Someone who can see me.”

“All children believe in you, but I take it you don’t want to pash with the kiddies.”

“That’s not fair, Bunny.” The frost boy bristles. “It’s not like I want to slobber all over a tiny rabbit.” It feels surreal, talking about this. Bickering like before.

“So you’d fancy a snog with a six one bunny?” The pooka responds sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Jack falters only a second, and his laughter echoes, high pitched and strained. The frost spirit rubs his hands over his face, trying to remain calm.

“C’mon, stop kidding around. We should leave before Pitch decides to return,” Jack replies, though he knows from experience that when Pitch leaves in a rage he often doesn’t come back for a long, long time.

Bunny still hesitates, everything about the boy putting him on edge. It’s hard to know if this is the same Jack frost who inspired him to play with Sophie and protected Baby Tooth from Pitch’s mares.

The pooka hops once, twice, and Jack lowers his hands to the floor. Bunny hops into his grasp and Jack’s smile makes his cheeks ache. He hopes Bunny can’t see it in the darkness.

Jack swings effortlessly into the air and leads them from beneath the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 4:38 am and this is unbeta'd. read at your own risk.

Jack tries to keep to temperate climates because Bunny hates the cold. Every sneeze and shiver that escapes his friend twists Jack’s chest uncomfortably tight. He keeps his body temperature as high as possible, though he’s only luke warm at most, and the prolonged heat blurs his vision and mind. He realizes after nearly passing out that he needs to find a way to keep Bunny warm in harsh environments.

“Where are we going?” Bunny asks, muffled from being clutched against Jack’s middle. He’s a steady ball of warmth against his cool abdomen, and Jack won’t admit how distracting he is.

“It’s a surprise.”

Bunny shakes as they ride the wind. It's refreshingly cold in this part of England, but if Jack finds what he's looking for, it won't matter.

Pitch’s encounter, the guardian’s defeat, is fresh and sore in their minds. Jack doesn’t pretend to know how Bunny feels, nearly powerless and unknown, protected by the very person who brought about his demise. Words are sparse between them. Jack treasures every morsel of communication, plays it over in his mind whenever the silence stretches unbearably.

They drop into a familiar clearing, though Jack cringes at the memories it summons. He doesn’t want to linger, so he sets Bunny down and rifles through the brush. Bunny immediately puts space between them, hopping further into the open area. He nibbles gently at the sparse patch of clovers, though the trip has turned his stomach into knots.

 “This is the place, isn’t it.”

“Hm?” Jack responds, quickening his search. He finally spots something and kneels to retrieve it.

“The place where the kiddies first...stopped believing.”

They relive the events of that day in intense silence. Bunny darting out into the open with hastily colored eggs, too late for recognition. Bunny’s fist cocked back, intending to strike Jack, eyes so large and hurt. The gaze of the guardians, too disappointed to act, staring at Jack with betrayal, disdain. Sadness.

Bunny snaps out of his reverie when he hears Jack approach. Looking up to see Jack’s face is still a strange sensation. He can’t count the number of times he’s thrown off guard by new shortcomings.

Jack holds Bunny’s old bracers and bandoleer. The numerous pockets still hide eggs, raw materials for paints, small bits of dry food. Even Bunny’s boomerang, worn wood buffed smooth, rests snugly in its fastener.

"Much good they'll do me now," Bunny replies, tired anger lacing his words.

A heavy frown twists Jack's features, but it morphs quickly into a self-deprecating smile. He fastens the bracers around his arms, though they are too large.

“I can add a pouch for you to sit in. That way you won’t always be cold, and I won’t pass out and crush you.”

“I don’t see how this is going to help us spread belief.”

"There has to be a way of reviving the guardians' power without endangering Jamie." Jack replies as he secures the bandoleer around his shoulders. He loops his staff next to the boomerang. With his new powers, Jack doesn't need the staff’s amplifying properties, but it feels wrong to be without it. "We just have to figure out how to do it. The pouch would be a temporary arrangement."

"Now that's just the thing. I don't think you want to take down Pitch." Bunny says, eying his old equipment with a longing that almost makes Jack flinch. "I think you got tangled up in his plans and got more than you bargained for. Now you're resigned to this terrible situation." Bunny's working into a rage; Jack reads the signs, the shift in the atmosphere.

"I already told you. It's complicated."

"We've been running around for days doing squat while kids are plagued with nightmares, bloody helpless. Don't you think that'll have an effect on them? I'll let you in on a little secret.” It was frightening how a deep, serious voice erupted from such a tiny creature. “Those disturbed kids will grow up to be disturbed adults. Adults that won't be able to function but will have to make all the important decisions. You've cast the world into darkness, Jack. This is so much worse than you realize."

"I know!" Jack shouts, startling Bunny. The frost spirit deflates. "I know. It still doesn't change the fact that any move we make will put the first few believers in danger."  
Bunny punches the air in exasperation, growling. Jack laughs before he can stop himself.

"And just what is so blooming funny? It's your damn fault I'm stick in this ridiculously useless form."

"Sorry." He coughs into his hand. "You're just so cute when you're angry."

A swift furred paw connects with Jack's shin and he gasps in more surprise than pain. Bunny darts into the brush nearly too quick to follow.

"Bunny, wait!" Jack tries to tail him, but his smaller form is harder to track, and he loses sight after a few minutes of pursuit.

He calls after Bunny, but after an hour or two of fruitless search, Jack slumps to the ground. The extra equipment feels heavier than it should, and he lets go of his heat. A cool, comfortable rush of chill spreads through him. The grass freezes in spidering patchworks of frost everywhere he touches.

He draws his knees to his chest, eyes burning. Pitch leaves for years; he should be used to this by now. Maybe it’s because Jack knows that Bunny’s first instinct is to help others, that Bunny isn’t Pitch.

Night falls, and the temperature sinks with the sun. Jack doubles his efforts to find Bunny. The pooka is stubborn and determined, but he’s also vulnerable, not used to his weakened state and limitations.

“Bunny, please! I’m sorry, okay!?” Jack cups his hands to his mouth as he yells, puffs of steam escaping with each exclamation. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, his voice cracking. A lump swells in his throat as he takes to the skies, trying to spot a splash of grey in the desaturated greens and browns speckling the landscape.

His eyes burn as he scans hurriedly, but he double takes when he notices movement. A flash of dark red sprints across the wooded landscape, pursuing something small and unnaturally quick.

Jack pitches himself into the wind, zipping towards the fox who’s closing the gap, adrenaline spiking its speed to land the kill. Its nipping at Bunny’s tail, a scant inch from sinking its teeth into his hide.

The frost spirit screams, hurling dark frost at the predator. He’s not thinking, just acting on instinct, knowing that no matter what he has to save Bunny. The guardian’s name is a mantra ringing in his ears, pulsing frozen in his veins. Jack nearly collides into the pillar of ice he’s created, tall and formidable and way too large for halting the fox. He scrambles to reach the ground.

His shocked gasp echoes into cold silence. Bunny’s caught in the fox’s jaw, face twisted in surprise and agony. A small splotch of blood coats Bunny’s fur, frozen like Jack’s stopped time. Jack tries not to scream, but pathetic, cracking gasps escape as his mind floods with panic.

_Nononononononononono_

Circumstance forces his hand, and Jack can’t think too hard about the consequences because all he knows is that he can’t lose Bunny not _ever_. He rides the wind, soaring into town. He stumbles to the nearest house, eyes wide and face wet, and he snowflakes every child he sees, placing eggs in their hands.

They’re scared, and so is he, and Jack threatens when his influence alone isn’t enough to inspire belief. It’s sharp and sobering when one small girl begins to sob, holding the egg so tight it nearly cracks. It almost makes Jack stop and think about what he’s doing, but when he remembers Bunny encased in ice and frozen in the fox’s jaws he nearly screams.

Jack spreads eggs, magicking and malicing everyone who can see him until their eyes light with new recognition. Jack's hands scramble into each pocket of Bunny’s bandoleer until it’s the third sweep, and he realizes he’s out of eggs.

Jack rushes to the park, realizing he’s done all he can, and he hopes to the forsaken moon it’s enough. Bunny’s boomerang and his staff clatter together as he stumbles into the statue. It’s hard to see anything, exhaustion consuming him, vision blurred by frozen tears and panic. The frost spirit collapses against the glacial spire, crying and hiccuping as he uses the last of his energy to melt it before consciousness slips away.

-

He’s not sure how long he’s out, but he wakes to a warm, soft bundle in the crook of his neck. He doesn’t move immediately, pain blossoming in his forehead.

“Bunny?” Jack’s voice is hoarse, throat raw. The weapons beneath him strain his back, but he doesn’t dare move. Bunny remains quiet, but his breathing is even. Sleeping. The all too familiar itch pricks Jack’s fingers, and he fights himself internally for a long while, berating himself, but the sensation intensifies.

He drags his fingers along the grass, increases his temperature. He only notices his hand is trembling when it falls against the heat of Bunny’s fur and the shaking slows. Jack slips his index finger behind Bunny’s ears and down his back. The pooka coos, snuggling closer to his neck. Jack bites back a laugh, exhilarated, overjoyed that Bunny is just _breathing_.

Jack gently presses his hand to Bunny’s small chest, feeling his heart thumping quickly even in repose. Small warmth relaxing him more than he’s been in years, Jack sleeps.

-

Something cold presses against Bunny’s chest, and the blizzard of ‘68 floods his mind. He’s slow to stir, blinks his eyes open to a dark forest. Bunny shifts, and the chill sinks through his fur, fingers finding the skin beneath. A cool body leans into him, another hand slipping around his waist, pressing them together.  
Bunny gazes down at the figure curled in his arms. Jack Frost stares back at him, smile crooked and mischievous.

There’s at least a hundred things wrong with this, Bunny thinks as his heart hammers against the chilled palm. Jack betrayed him. The pooka himself should be powerless and small. He tries to move, but he’s frozen. The frost spirit's eyes fall to half-mast, and his hand strokes behind Bunny’s ears, beneath his chin. It’s cold, and Bunny tries to speak but he grinds his teeth instead, flooded with contentment. He fights against the urge to slap his foot against the ground, cold or no, Jack somehow knows his weak spots.

The kid shifts, and there’s a nose nuzzling his throat, pressing beneath the pooka’s jaw. The pressure changes, and Jack is bloody _biting_ him, soft but insistent, carding the fur aside to find as much bare skin and he can get his mouth against. Bunny protests, but his words are only whispers and gasps. His limbs can barely move, only twitching at particularly hard bites that make his paws curl. Jack’s hand dips, tracing the hollow on the inside of Bunny’s hip bone, nipping and licking while he strokes shivers into the trapped pooka.

“You’ve wanted this,” Jack says, though his mouth never lets go of his neck and Bunny can’t think of how he’s doing it. Can’t think anything at all. His stomach tightens, a harsh tug that he’s not felt in centuries.

It’s snowing, nearly a white out. Jack’s on top of him, hands fisted in his chest fur. Heat gathers low even as Jack’s cold seeps into his being. They’re in the streets of the city, snow drifts flanking them on all sides, and the eggs aren’t just tipped. Googies litter the snow, shattered and dead. The boy snaps his hips forward, and Bunny groans and tugs the boy’s hoodie, tugs Jack closer.

“Bunny,” Jack whispers. Once. twice. There’s a heavy pressure against his whole body.

Bunny opens his eyes.

He’s little, nestled between Jack’s neck and the boy’s hand. His own neck is sore, and he remembers the night before as the sun rises. The fox. The glacier. Crawling towards Jack after slipping out of the creature’s jaws and collapsing.

“Thanks.” It escapes Bunny before he has time to register what he’s saying, but he lets it go, knowing that instinctually it needed to be said. “But how...I was a goner...”  
Jack sits up, grasping his head. Bunny notices all the clasps on his bandoleer hang haphazardly open, some pockets ripped and unusable.

Bunny feels sick, but he's also slightly grateful.

“You put kids in danger.”

“I know.”

“We need to act.”

“I think it’s okay. I mean, there were only a few eggs, and you’re still—”

A faint burst of magic and Bunny’s sitting next to Jack in full guardian stature, uncomfortably close and towering over him even when they’re both seated. The frost spirit lingers for a few long seconds, just letting Bunny’s heat radiate over him. There’s so much more warmth to him now, like he remembered. Jack jumps up, unlatching Bunny’s equipment and handing it down without really looking at the pooka.

“You’re right,” Jack responds. He stares at the bruise-colored sunrise, avoiding the angry green gaze he can feel boring into him.

“Any bright ideas?” Drawls Bunny. “I don’t suppose we can go around unconvincing the ankle biters.”

Jack twists his staff in his hands, all discomfort. Bunny’s disgusted the kid can’t even meet his eyes.

“Just say what you’re bloody thinking,” Bunny says.

“I have a plan, but it’s not going to be pretty,” Jack replies, finally looking at him, rings around his eyes so dark it’s startling, but there’s something anxious there too. Anxiety, and other things that make Bunny remember his dream from minutes ago. Bunny buries those thoughts as he slips on his bracers, remembers how the same kid tricked him before.

He steels himself for Jack’s plan.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 4 am and this hasn't been beta'd. Sorry to everyone who's waited for this. Hope it was worth it. NSFW, definitely where the non-con tags come into play. Tread carefully.

A pooka and a winter spirit stand in a barren forest before a derelict bed. It’s out of place, eerie, but the strangest thing is the menacing hole at its center, dissipating into impenetrable shadow. They stare into the abyss as chilled wind whips around them, but only one notices.Twisted, decaying flora circle the bed, huddled close to the ground. The buds in the trees are gnarled and dormant. It’s unusually cold in Burgess; Jack wonders absently if it’s his fault.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” Bunny says, paws itching for his weapons he left in the warren. Jack said it would be better if he came unarmed.

 The frost spirit turns to Bunny, weakly smiles. He twists his staff in his hands and wonders if Pitch is even home.

 “Just stand behind me and keep your head down,” Jack says. “Try to look as unthreatening as possible.” Jack breathes deep, but the exhale shakes. He extends his hand to Bunny.

 Bunnymund frowns, and Jack’s smile splinters. A few moments later he feels a warm paw slide over his palm.

 They descend.

 -

The caverns seem deserted, and Jack isn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. The iron cages hang empty as they have for centuries. The gilded memory boxes still lay where the nightmares dumped them, rotting in enormous piles.

Bunnymund’s paw tenses. Jack squeezes it gently before letting go. It’s as dark as he remembers, and he can’t help but feel comforted by the crooked steps spiraling to his room. Jack flits up the stairs, and Bunny steps quickly to keep up with him. The frost spirit knows better than to call for Pitch.

Bunny wants to talk, but he doesn’t want to chance Pitch overhearing. He pictures the children in his mind as he follows Jack deeper into the darkness. The pooka can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched, and each step deeper feels like weights stacked one by one, suffocating him. Bunnymund wonders how Jack’s lived in Pitch’s domain for so long without going bonkers.

Maybe Jack is crazy. He stuffs the thought away.

They enter a room, dimly lit. It takes Bunny a few moments for his eyes to adjust. It’s sparse, only a bed on a stone slab, leaving no room for a boogeyman to hide beneath. Not like he would need the cover.

Jack sighs, glancing at his bed with longing. He turns towards the pooka, mouth open to speak.

A scream echoes through the caverns as the shadows swallow the boy.

Jack hears Bunny’s distant cries, but his attention shifts to the hands clutching his throat. He drowns in large citrine eyes.

 “Frost,” Pitch growls, teeth rattling as Pitch shakes him. Jack chokes, scrabbles his hands around the nightmare king’s wrists, icing wherever his fingers touch. “You’ll want to stop doing that. I’m not in the mood.”

 Jack jerks in the grip, trying and failing to follow Pitch’s orders when his vision goes spotty.

 “You’ve been very bad, giving those children belief. Just what were you thinking,” with his last word he slams the boy into an ancient wall, dust and decay raining from the ceiling. The boy rolls on his side, coughing harshly, his breathing a blunt saw grinding jagged wood.

 Jack hears the nightmare king pacing, pictures him as he catches his breath, with arms fixed behind his back, eyes glossed, livid.

 “I’m waiting.”

 Jack is speechless for a few moments. The winter spirit rubs at the red prints on his neck, knowing they will bruise. The low, dull ache disgusts and comforts him.

 “He’s mine. I’ll use him as I please," Jack heaves finally, hardening words into a sharp blade.

 Shadows pelt Jack in waves, rocking the boy into the wall again.

 “And just what,” each one of Pitch’s venomous words are punctuated by the shadows lifting and slamming Jack into stone. “...is that supposed to mean?”

 Jack wheezes, overwhelmed by the saturated darkness, the raw, thick power of Pitch’s rage. His hands scramble to find purchase, but everything shifts, grabs and squeezes him, and the shadows are everywhere but nowhere at once. The pressure begins to suffocate him again, airless gasps and then a petrifying numbness. Jack tries to scream because it’s so familiar, he’s drowning, and it’s cold and endless and he can’t see anything

 before it withdraws incrementally.

 Each trembling breath is graveled fire spiking his throat and lungs. He vaguely notices the  golden smear of Pitch’s eyes looming. Jack tries to focus, but it hurts. There’s buzzing in his ears, but the nightmare king’s mouth doesn’t move.

 Trembles rack his body as the warm shadows lick at his exposed skin, his calves, wrists. Pitch waits for a response. His form wavers like he can’t maintain it. Jack’s tongue is dry and useless in his mouth.

 Speaking leads to a guttural mess of half-formed words and choking. Pitch shifts, eyes disdainful, angry, and something else he can't place.

 Jack tries again. 

“...what?” Pitch cooes, voice a pantomime of concern.

 “He’s mine...my slave.” Jack rasps as the shadows shift between overwhelming and almost just.

 “And his weakened state did not suit your needs?” Pitch’s words snake between bared teeth, shadows surging dangerously.

 “Now he can...give me anything I need.”

 Jack hears something loud, but the shadows press over his chest, neck, muck slothering his face. He screams, but they slip inside and he hears the rush of currents. It crashes over everything, and he watches the bubbles escape towards the surface of his watery grave.

-

 Pitch drops Jack unceremoniously to the ground.

 The nightmare king has never been stronger; a few children wouldn’t be able to threaten him; not even Jack and Bunny at their peak would stand a chance.

 But one child means hope, a stubborn weed that infects everything. He paces, shadowed steps echoing in the stone corridor. Pitch recalls the little lights shining on the worn brass continents, each a stab of betrayal from which he hasn’t recovered.

 He’s been so careful with Jack over the years. From the dwindling spirit, lost and alone into something that was cold and useful and his. Teasing him, picking him apart, crafting an insidious web so perfectly woven the boy had no chance of escaping, and even worse (better), he wanted to be caught.

 Yet, Jack reminded children of the guardians’ existence. Pitch spared Bunny’s life with the only modicrum of mercy he could muster. Mercy presented for Jack, an olive branch for all the times he’d pushed the boy past his limits.

 For centuries Jack lived in darkness. With him. Pitch taught him his secrets. The boy knows the power of nightmares, to invade, shape them to his will, when needed. He could have Bunny in any form he pleased by manifesting in the pooka’s nightmares.

 “So, then, why did you grant him believers?” Pitch startles at his own voice.

 He lowers his gaze to Jack, lingering on the angry welts circling his neck. This boy, the only one he touched intimately in hundreds of years. Jack’s breathing remains restless and worried, even in sleep. Frost, throwing everything Pitch gave him back in his face. All because he wanted to play pillow-biter with the damn rabbit.

 Pitch’s brow sinks, a harsh spike of tension mounting between his eyes.

 Wetness slicks the nightmare king’s palms as his hands wring into tight fists. Blackness wells from the wounds where lacquered nails stapled skin; the blood disperses slowly to shadow.

 Pitch slides his bloodied hands against his robe, straightens his posture, smoothes into a display of cool composure. His footsteps are silent against the floor. He grasps Jack’s throat, overlapping the bruises, lifts the boy who shudders weakly.

 “Wake up, Jack. It’s time for your punishment.”

 -

Bunnymund’s cries ricochet off the endless walls and caverns, hurting his ears. Down here, the echoes twist, become malicious, mocking. The kid’s been gone for, well, he doesn’t exactly know, but he does know that Pitch has him. The pooka can’t think of why he doesn’t just escape when he has the chance, leave the traitor in the depths with his batshit master. A single tap of his paw would send him to the surface, but Bunny teleports between the dark corridors of Pitch’s domain.

 The pooka’s hopelessly lost, opening tunnels throughout this labyrinthine resting place has been a spectacular waste of time. He only knows he’s somewhere deep, and a feeling of dread makes his movements frantic as he appears and reappears.

Bunny replays the times they spent together on endless loop.  He's inevitably drawn to the betrayal, and boy does that still hurt, somewhere deep, aches because he believed that Jack was better than that. Jack who was mostly quiet, who only seemed to smile, off-kilter and unabashed  when he thought no one was looking. Someone who still loved children even after three hundred years of solitude. The boy who would throw himself off a building and be shocked that anybody would reach out and catch him. The boy who endangered the relationship with the only companion he ever had to save Bunny’s skin.

 The boy of '68 with cold fingers, gently carding his fur.

 The dream zips through his mind before he can halt it. Bunny punches the nearest wall and renews yelling. His last call echoes and silences before dread obliterates thought.

 “All of this shouting is terribly aggravating, Bunny.”

Shadows toss Bunnymund as easily as a ragdoll, knocking the pooka into cold dirt. The shadow tendrils flatten him to the grimy surface. Bunny curses and struggles, but the wisps cinch tight, biting through fur and skin until he stops resisting. Bunny levels his glare at Pitch when the shadow man materializes from behind an ancient stalagmite. Pitch is inwardly amused for a moment by thinking the pooka looks more a trapped wolf than a rabbit.

“Where’s Jack? What did you do to him?” Bunny asks. His bonds tighten momentarily, but Pitch's expression never shifts. Instead, the nightmare king wordlessly summons another concentration of shadow, precise, leisurely motions creating a tall construct a few feet in front of his prisoner. Pitch ignores Bunny as he works.

“Hey, don’t think you can—” The shadows constrict, and Bunny’s words and air halt. He hears his bones creak under the pressure.

The nightmare king finishes. Pitch slips into the center of his new throne. The structure is intimidatingly large, black and geometric, reflective like dark glass in the low light. He seems pleased with his new creation, runs his hands along its arms, reclining like it’s a downy bed instead of an unforgiving mountain of planes and angles.

Pitch exudes nonchalance, Bunny thinks, or at least he’s attempting it. Something is off, like he’s just going through the motions of what he thinks Bunny expects. His heart’s slamming against his ribs as those yellow eyes finally turn on him.

The nightmare king smiles, uneven and full of teeth.

There’s something ancient and terrifying about that smile. Pitch is in his own element, at his most powerful. Kozmotis Pitchner is a timeless entity, a primordial force. His hackles raise as Pitch watches him, the atmosphere tight and unbearable. It’s impossible not to be afraid.

Those eyes blink and Bunny can breathe again.

“So, Bunny, you and Jack have been very busy.” His casts his eyes off to the side like they’re just having a normal conversation. “You’re not so cute anymore, and that makes me a little annoyed.” Pitch sets both hands on the arms of the chair, crosses his legs in the picture of comfort.

“I know you’re afraid. I would tell you not to be, but you have good instincts.”

Bunnymund would deny it, but why lie about fear to its incarnate? He grinds his teeth, tenses into the shadowy grip though they don’t provide any give.

 “I don’t expect much from a guardian. You lot are endlessly pestering me. Well, not so much anymore,” a small chuckle. “But it’s hard to ignore history. Our little game has gone on for centuries.”

“However,” his smile falters.  “Jack knows better.”

“How could you possibly—”

“Enough!” Pitch’s voice magnifies, multiple tones ripping into his ears. The shadows fling Bunny to the ceiling, against a column, which cracks near its base, then back to the floor. The shadows hold him up, force him to kneel.

“Do not interrupt me. You are a pathetic speck unworthy of existing in my presence.” Each word is a crisp hiss, muffled through Bunny’s pain. He can only groan in response.

“Your life persists because of the very boy who is under my control. Don’t forget that.” Pitch’s twisted face draws smooth again, and the transition plays on Bunny’s fraying nerves.

“Speaking of...”

Shadows crawl up Pitch’s legs, massing together on his lap. When they disperse Jack’s splayed over the nightmare king’s thighs.

The winter spirit is completely naked, and Bunny catches the harsh bruises scattered on his back, the dark finger marks marring the boy’s neck.  Bunny’s distantly shocked by the white of Jack’s disheveled hair. He had never seen him with his hood down. Tight cords of concentrated shadow bind his arms behind his back and cover his eyes, ears, and mouth.

He isn’t moving.

Bunny wants to look away, provide some kind of privacy to his estranged companion, but he’s afraid of what Pitch will do.

“Oh, stop worrying. He’s alive. Jack’s actually going to have a very rousing experience.” Thin grey fingers press up the boy’s spine, and Jack twitches.

“Don't touch him, you racking loonatic!”

The nightmare king sighs tiredly, face soured like a parent dealing with a belligerent child. With a flick of his wrist, shadows constrict over Bunny’s mouth, halting the yell of indignation as he bites fruitlessly at the constantly shifting dreamsand.

“He can’t hear you, even with your grating voice. I wouldn’t want Jack to be uncomfortable, you know. With an audience.”

Pitch lines his fingers to each smarting bruise, pressing them gently, then harder while his eyes roam to the tight curve of the boy’s ass. The nightmare king’s gaze never falters, he’s drinking the boy in like he's never seen him before. Bunnymund feels a deep twist in his gut. Those eyes turn to him, gold finding green.

It happens imperceptibly quick, the downward arc of a thin grey hand. The smack echoes. Jack flinches, elicits a muffled sound. Pitch holds the boy still by gripping his neck.

“How many, Bunny? Perhaps for as many children that believe in you? 20? 30?”

The shadows release Bunny’s mouth. Bunny heaves against the binds, but he tires quickly from the strain. He closes his eyes as the next blow lands.

“I will not ask again. Should I continue until he’s black and blue? Until I beat him bloody?”

Jack doesn’t cry a second time, awareness perhaps clarifying at least a little of what was happening to him. Pitch slaps his ass again, the sound crisp and embarrassing. Three.

“Open your eyes!” The nightmare king booms, and Bunny does, startled.

“Have the decency to acknowledge his pain, you insufferable pooka.”

Five. Six. The seventh slap rocks Jack forward as Pitch hits the same spot over and over. Jack’s cheeks burn hot red, angry and near perfectly outlined with handprints before off-kilter blows mar them.

Bunny flinches at each resounding slap. Jack begins to shake, releases small, muffled noises, constant and quiet, but Bunny’s heightened senses are a curse. Furious trembles overtake the pooka; his head splitting with tension.

Twelve. Thirteen. Pitch alternates blows on the boy’s thighs, marking those too. He laughs through his nose, strokes Jack’s hair.

The boy leans into the touch. Pitch grasps at the reddened skin, and the winter spirit jerks, a sob escaping him. Jack breathes hard through his nose, like he can’t get enough air. The boy shifts his hips, pressing away from the next blow.

“Stop it, he can’t breathe!” Bunny yells, his words almost even. Pitch smiles like he knows Bunny would protest.

“You want me to ungag him? Done.” Shadows melt from the boy’s face.

Jack draws in a painful gasp.

The exhale is a strangled moan.

Everything seems to slow. Bunny flushes down to his toes at the needy sound. His ears twist back, whiskers twitching furiously.

“What...what did you do to him?” The pooka asks, voice pathetically small. He doesn’t know where to rest his eyes. He settles on the whiteness of Jack’s hair and focuses on breathing.

Pitch clicks his tongue. “I don’t see why you’re so shocked, Bunny. This is the kind of thing he had in store for you, didn’t you know?”

He bristles and tries hide it. Jack said it would be the only way they could convince Pitch. You learn to lie to someone when you've been around them for a few hundred years. They would trick Pitch into believing that Bunny was Jack's in all ways. Fuck, the plan was complete and utter shit.

"P-Pitch, what...?" Jack's voice shakes, but it's filled with unmistakable heat. Shadows swarm the boy, and he struggles. They seat him on Pitch's lap, and Jack's breathing hard again, flinching at the slightest shift. His chest heaves, stomach drawn taut with each inhale. His arms are still tightly bound behind him, drawing his shoulders rigid. The marks on his neck are more visible now, purpling at the edges.

Bunnymund swallows, can’t help but lower his eyes. His eyes trace the soft looking silver trail from Jack's belly and good Christ, the boy's aroused. It's flushed dark, precum beading at the tip.

The pooka inhales, sudden and sharp. He’s not even sure how it’s possible that a furless human spirit elicits such a response from him, even more disgusting in this situation when Jack’s unaware and they don’t even like each other and Pitch is fucking _watching_.

Pitch slides a finger down Jack’s flank, and the spirit flinches, gasps like it burns. Pitch hums under his breath, kisses the side of the boy’s neck. Bunny’s mesmerized, fighting the hot tug low in his stomach he hasn’t felt in years. This feeling he relegates to secrecy, shameful, lonely times that he would rather not remember.

“Are you enjoying the show? I thought you would. I don’t see how anyone could resist him. That’s what makes him such a good toy.”

Pitch sinks his teeth into the soft, cold skin of Jack’s neck, and Jack arches against him before tensing. He tries to close his legs but Pitch keeps his thighs spread with his own.

“Look how afraid he is! Yes, this fear is rare indeed. But it’s not the kind you think.”

“You’re one sick bastard,” the pooka manages, but it sounds weak, even to him, and Pitch laughs.

“Bunny, you silly fool. He isn’t afraid of this.”

Pitch shifts his fingers along the boy’s collarbone, tracing its dips and curves. His lips turn to teeth at the boy’s neck, sucking more marks into his skin.

“He’s afraid that I’ll stop. That I will leave him in this state, as I always have.” Pitch grips the boy’s hip, shifts his other hand across Jack’s ribs. The winter spirit’s sigh turns into a short, broken laugh.

Ticklish, Bunny thinks, head spinning.

Spindly fingers trail down the planes of Jack’s body, grey shadowing white, and Jack’s breath hitches, his body stilling except to twitch at wayward flicks of the nightmare’s hands. Pitch’s finger glances Jack’s nipple. Jack curls his toes, bites his lip. His hands circles the boy’s chest, nicking each arching bud with his nails. He twists one harshly.

The boy’s cock twitches, thickens. The sounds Jack utters is nearly lost beneath the rush thrumming through Bunny’s head. He can smell Jack, the near scentless boy now sweating, glistening crystalline points along his skin. Skin that is beginning to flush pink.

“Stop, you’re overheating him. He can’t get that warm without consequences.”

“Oh?”

Pitch keeps plucking at Jack’s nipple, while the other hand snakes low, carding the down trail at his belly button. Lower, lower. he rests his hand right above Jack’s shaft, stroking the soft skin. The boy’s hips jerk, but Pitch shifts his hand away. Jack hiccups, tenses. His movements grow sluggish.

“P-please…” The boy rasps, clenches his teeth after he says it, but his hips push forward again. “Pitch…”

Disgust roils Bunny’s stomach. He’s trying to put his eyes anywhere but Jack, but looking at Pitch is almost unbearable.

“I get it. You’ve proven your point. He’s yours. Just leave him alone.” The shadows squeeze and shift, forcing him towards the throne.

“You have a lot of guts, ordering me. He wanted you badly enough to disobey. Someone who can give him this, if only he is good enough to receive it. Now he has you. A pathetic, last strain of a dead breed."

Pitch bites Jack’s ear and circles his hand around his cock. The boy sobs once, brokenly.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease-”

He pumps once, twice. Jack’s toes curl, he arches, back bowing, skin gradiating from near blue to rose in splotchy patchwork. His sweat is melting, dripping. A third pull and the broken keen burns Bunny down to the core. Jack’s hips shiver, stutter forward, and Bunny thinks, brainlessly, Jack’s going to come.

Pitch laughs, throaty and deep, smile splitting his face. Bunny see red.

“He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know he’s going to come.” Pitch’s laughter bubbles, like he can’t stop it. Like he’s having so much _fun_.

With another stroke, Jack freezes. He’s drawn so tight it he looks like he’ll shatter.

Pitch stills, locks his fist around the base and squeezes.

“W-no!” Jack nearly screams, voice hoarse and fucked out, delirious.

Jack tries to wrench away, but shadows reinforce their hold. Tears roll smoothly down his face from beneath the blindfold as he begins to cry in earnest. Pitch pumps him hard once before tightening his grip again. The boy’s noises spike and deteriorate. He almost looks human, skin painted healthy and alive.

“Stop! You’re killing him!” Bunny yells.

“Why do you care? He’s taken everything from you. Your powers. Your believers. Your guardians. He will use you, rabbit. He will become like me, and you like him. You’re letting your pesky morality warp how you should feel.”

“It-it doesn’t matter. This isn’t right. Just end this.”

“You’re not doing a good job of convincing me.” Pitch growls, less patient by the second. “Why should I?”

Bunnymund drops his eyes to the floor, unable to believe what he’s about to say. Everything feels too hot, tense. It’s surreal. He thinks of the guardians. The world. He thinks of Jack.

“I will. I’ll do it. I’ll be Jack’s slave. Let me.” He bites his tongue. “Help him.”

There’s a few moments of silence. A judgement being deliberated. Then Pitch laughs. Bunny chokes on his own hatred, hatred for the situation and especially for the monster before him.

“You have no choice in the matter. You will be what I, what Jack wants you to be. But your willingness, I wonder how long that will last. Let’s give you a test then, shall we?”

Bunny’s still not meeting Pitch’s gaze, but he feels the smugness that the man’s eyes surely display. The shadow’s slither away from him, and he feels blood pulse back into his limbs.

“Come here. Kneel.”

The lack of movement did little to alleviate Jack’s deteriorating state; the tears and quiet whimpers flow from him like a litany. Jack’s erection slaps against his stomach when Pitch finally releases it, letting his slicked hands rest on the boy’s shaking thighs.

Bunny rises, swearing softly as he almost falls forward, stiffness claiming his legs. He tries to move with as much dignity as he can, but everything feels dreamy and horrifying and slow, like he’s moving through tar. Each step closer heightens the scent the boy’s emanating. Salt, chill, dried leaves. Need. His knees knock against the throne. One second. Two.

He sinks to the floor.

“Now see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Bunny’s ears twist and flatten again his head. He realizes he’s trembling. Shame and loathing fire through his brain like a slap to the face. This close, he can feel Jack’s tremors. Bunny stares blankly at the sharp cut of the throne between Jack’s thighs.

A lukewarm pressure tilts his jaw, Pitch’s finger; he breaks out in goosebumps.

“Look at him while you do it.”

He looks at Jack’s face, twisted and red and wet. Bunny leans forward. He won't hesitate. Not now.

The first wet drag of his tongue shocks them both. The boy’s scent and taste burst inside his mind. He’s moist and warm, too warm, against his tongue. Bunny shakes his head, trying and failing to rid himself of the sensory overload. He focuses instead on Jack mouthing _wait_ , and _no_  and _yes_ and _Pitch_ but he can’t form the words completely, confusion and protest, fear and pain straining for dominance. It’s tearing the boy apart.

The nightmare king chuckles through his nose. “Don’t tease him, Bunny. He’s been teased enough, as you’ve been so keen on reminding me.”

Bunny shifts forward, minding his teeth as he takes Jack in one slide. Jack’s head lulls against Pitch’s shoulder as one continuous sobbing moan rolls past his lips. Bunny wonders absently how much Jack is even aware of what is happening to him. Guilt cramps his gut better than any punch could.

Bunny knows how to do this in theory, but he feels clumsy and useless now. He tries to go quickly, sucking hard when he reaches the base. He presses his long tongue against him as he drags upward. Again. Again. He thinks, maybe, he can do this.

Bunny’s eyes slip closed without notice. He’s trying not to hear-smell-taste Jack, but he’s losing himself in it.

It’s almost bearable, he thinks.

A startled gasp swarms Bunny’s ears as Jack’s cock throbs against his tongue, precum sharp. It takes everything Bunny has not to groan around him.

“B-bunny…”

His eyes shoot open, and oh _fuck_ , he shouldn’t have done that. Jack’s red-rimmed eyes are staring down at him with terror, half-crazed from heat and sensation, but unmistakably clouded with lust. Fuck.

_Fuck._

A guttural sound vibrates from deep within Bunny’s chest. Jack’s eyes go impossibly wide, mouth forming the perfect ‘o’ before he slams his teeth down on his lip, all his noises strangled and wild. Blood smears down his rosy, dewed chin.

Jack is coming thick and hard in Bunny’s mouth, those blue-grey eyes never leave his, though Bunny isn’t really seeing, can only feel. He wants to pull back, but an unyielding hand keeps his head down, twists deep in his fur. He swallows instinctively, the taste of Jack impossible to ignore, coating his tongue. Bunny can’t do anything but take it, doesn’t know what to feel, how Jack feels, what they’re supposed to do after this.

Pitch finally allows Bunny to recede. The pooka swings backward, falling ungracefully on his ass. He coughs, and the uncomfortable sensation of come drying around his mouth, on his whiskers sends him through waves of shame and guilt so strong it makes him see double.

Jack’s boneless and unmoving now, his body twitching from physical stimulation alone. His eyes are closed. Bunny hopes that he’s just lost consciousness. That whatever’s happened will be reversible. He barks one harsh note of laughter at the thought. Jack’s physical recovery will be the only thing reversible about this encounter, if that.

“Bunny,” Pitch almost sounds surprised. “You did so good. You should be proud. We’ll make something out of you yet.”

Bunnymund barely has the energy to feel anything at all, but tired, swift fury sours his stomach at the sound of that voice, that mocking, sickening cadence.

“Now.” His voice is gravel rough, another thing that startles him for the thousandth time in the last...10, 30 minutes, hours? “Let him go.”

Bunny can’t help it. He looks at Pitch. The nightmare king’s eyes aren’t narrowed. Not arrogant. Not angry. His expression is smooth, eyes curious.

He let's the boy go.


End file.
